How Do I Do the Voodoo That I Do

Tuesday

From my first scribblings on the bedroom wall (Mom never appreciated my artistry) to last week’s saga of Catholic school life, I guess you could call me a writer.

Just not a terribly successful one.

Most of what I write is not all that deep. You’d never find something like “Just an Observation” in a textbook. Comic book, maybe. But, even those people have talent.

Rather, the stuff about which I write is fairly simplistic. I’m certainly no Hemingway, Faulkner, or Melville. I’m not even Lou Melville, that guy who writes graffiti alongside I-95 in Chester.

While I’d like to be handsomely paid for my ramblings, I realize it probably won’t happen. In other words, better not quit my day job.

That said, few things are more of a rush than having a couple people read the manic scratchings from my brain. The adulation I receive from a “Like” on Facebook or a SPAM “You have best worth in writing for man. Many precious rewards find your way to Nigerian royal house” is worth the effort.

So, how do I do the voodoo that I do? From what part of my mental rolodex do I come up with ideas? A lot of people want to know. Okay, a couple. Actually, it was some guy in front of me at the Wawa Coke machine.

Many times, an idea will just pop into my head. For example, going back to that Coke machine, I didn’t have any earthly idea what I was going to write about that weekend until I tried to get a drink.

I used the same thought process when I ordered a large coffee at Starbucks. The concept of using a hi-falutin’ Italian word just to get a cuppa Joe was ludicrous to me. My exasperation with a pretentious barista who tried to convince me that his brew was better than anything on the planet was perfect fodder.

So, a lot of my “material” comes without warning. I may be walking the aisles of Walmart or gassing up at the self-serve when inspiration hits me. Then, once I start giggling to myself, there’s no telling where I’m going to go next.

Also, I’ve noticed that when I start giggling to myself, people generally tend to leave me alone.

I also get ideas from things that happen around me. Some, like Hurricane Sandy or the tragedy at Newtown, aren’t funny whatsoever. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to write about them. They’re much too important to ignore so I play it straight. It’s just blindingly callous to rhapsodize about turkey club sandwiches when some people in New York or New Jersey still have no power.

Of course, I’ll happily poke fun at current events which I consider silly. One such example is the mass frenzy which occurred this past Friday.

In a hysteria rarely seen above the Mason-Dixon Line, the Delaware Valley went into cardiac arrest at the prospect of a couple inches of snow. The Quakertown School District closed, there were enough salt trucks on the road to cover the Eisenhower Interstate System, and evening activities-with the exception of sundown-were cancelled.

Grocery stores thronged as panicked shoppers snatched up eggs, milk, and bread. Folks gassed up their vehicles only to crawl up the Northeast Extension at 15 mph with their hazards on.

Joining the meteorological maelstrom, FOX-29 posted ominous warnings on their web page about the coming of white apocalypse.

“What’s it like where you are!!??” they frantically wailed as a picture of Philadelphia’s Market Street inundated with a half inch of snow flashed across my Facebook page.

In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the sheets of plywood and generators which finally returned after a real disaster once more flew off the shelves at Home Depot and Lowe’s.

Of course, Saturday morning arrived as scheduled. Although colder than a witch’s appendage (you know which one I mean), the sun shone through a blue sky and, even though no birds sang, we got postcards from them in Florida.

And folks wanted to know what they were going to do with all those eggs. Easter won’t be here for a couple months.

There you have it. I’m constantly on the lookout for a story about which I can lampoon. Or, failing that, you never know when something is going to occur to me as funny. I can likewise use that as “Just an Observation.”

Just rest assured, I’m not getting paid for any of this.

Which is probably no surprise.

That reminds me. I suppose I should come up with something funny about that “horses” sign.

After all, I did take the picture with my cell phone.

I just hope I don’t hack off the Amish.

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